Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. He was astonished. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. His vicious abusiveness vanished. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. But behind these things which you have said to me there must be others of which I know nothing. ’ Total bullshit, if you ask me. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair.
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